The Indigo Thief (5 page)

Dove had a younger brother named Tree. This was definitely a mental institution.

“I sense a visitor in the kitchen,” another voice called from the hall. “Are my suspicions correct?” A boy about my age poked his head around the corner. “Also,” he continued, “do we still have cornflakes?”

“Good morning, Sparky!” cried Kindred. “Your suspicions are indeed correct. This is Kai Bradbury. And, yes, we still have cornflakes.”

“Excellent,” said Sparky. He shuffled into the kitchen in his blue silk pajamas. His eyes were large and his ears stuck out to the sides like a bush baby’s. Around his neck, a creature with brown fur, big eyes, long claws, and a white face hung like a necklace.

Sparky nodded at me as he passed. “Greetings, stranger.”

The creature that hung from his neck turned its head and stuck its tongue out ever so slightly in my direction.

I pointed to the creature. “What’s that?”

“Tim,” Dove said, plopping another handful of blueberries into his mouth. His big teeth were stained blue.

“Not the kid,” I said. “The thing around his neck.”

“That
thing
,” said Kindred, “is Tim. And he’s not a thing. He’s a three-toed sloth. Named Tim. Rescued from rainforest destruction. And he’s a dear.”

I took a deep breath. I had to find out where I was and who I was dealing with, fast. Then I could find Mom and we could save Charlie.

Sparky alternated spoonfuls of cornflakes between himself and Tim. “Where’s Mila? Shouldn’t she be up by now?”

Mila
.

That couldn’t be right. It must be someone else. It couldn’t be the Lost Boy. She’d fled after the Tube cracked. Swam away once I’d released her ankle to save Charlie.

Kindred sighed. “I don’t know, dear. She’s had a rough few days. With Bugsy’s,” she sniffed, “untimely… you know.”

Sparky twisted his spoon. “I think we’ve all been feeling that way.”

Kindred nodded. “It’s not easy. Mila knew him the best out of all of us. She had to. They went on raids together.”

Raids. Mila. It was too close. It was the same girl. I sucked in a breath.

Kindred turned. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, knew a girl named Mila in a class once. That’s all. Thought it might be the same one.”

Dove grinned. “I guarantee it wasn’t this Mila. Our Mila is the one and only Mila…” He trailed off, his eyes drifting and his mouth falling open.

“Vachowski,” Kindred finished for him. “Mila Vachowski.”

Dove shook his head. “Right, right,” he said. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second there.”

I felt sick to my stomach. The kitchen’s walls closed, and my heart pounded. This wasn’t a mental institution. This was the Lost Boys’ den. The people around me were terrorists.

But that meant that the “baddies” who’d gotten Charlie weren’t Lost Boys at all, but Feds. She was safe.

Kindred put her hand to my head. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I—I’m fine. Just dizzy. That’s all. Would you mind if I—could I use your bathroom?”

Kindred nodded. “Of course, dear. Down the hall, second door to your left.”

I rushed down the hall, sped past the bathroom and arrived at a panoramic window that provided a clear view of the ocean. There was a lever on the windowsill. I pulled it, and the bars lifted—I’d found my escape. I would get away from the Lost Boys. I slammed my fist against the glass.

A shower of shards rained on me, and I leaped out the window and onto the sandy beach below. Blood stained my white shirt. My knuckles were bleeding. A cool breeze hit my thighs and I struggled to hold my shirt down. A mixture of sweat and blood coated my face. A piece of glass was buried in my right palm.

Waves crashed on the shoreline farther down. There was no one in either direction. Nobody to call for help. I was confused—even Kauai beaches weren’t this empty. I was somewhere else, somewhere… far.

I glanced at the sand around me. Bottles and cans stuck up everywhere. The beach was littered with trash.

Footsteps pounded the hall behind me, no doubt responding to the sound of broken glass. I ran to the ocean and washed the window’s glass from my palm in the salty water. From where I kneeled, I could see that the shoreline curved back in both directions. The structure I’d been held in was on a peninsula, maybe a small island.

The last time I’d seen a real beach was on a trip to Maui we’d taken back when I was in the fifth grade. Dad was still alive then. I’d just met Charlie, and she’d been nice to me—and I didn’t have a lot of friends in those days—so we took her with us.

Maui was mostly towering skyscrapers and floating screens. A place sprawling with people and businesses thanks to its proximity to the Hawaiian Quartile, the largest Federal island. Mom said there was a time when Maui was mostly rainforests, but I didn’t believe her, and even if she was right, the installation of the Ministry of Transportation & Commerce headquarters on the island had eradicated them long ago.

Maui did have a few beaches left, however, and all of them were lined with condominiums. On our way down to one of them, Charlie saw a family of snails trying to cross the road. She insisted we carry them across because she didn’t want them to be crushed by cars. Dad said Charlie was the rare kind of person who looked at a snail and saw another soul.

I splashed water on my face, curled my toes in the sand, and swished my bleeding hand in the water. Someone grabbed my wrist. A tall boy with blond hair and broad shoulders stared at me with blue eyes that burned in the sun. “Perhaps it’s best if we keep the blood out of the water.”

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just pants. And judging by the definition of his abs, I guessed he’d never had a milkshake.

He pulled my hand from the water. “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“What’s Kansas?” I asked.

“Never mind,” he said.

“Are the nets down or something?”

The boy rubbed his square jaw. “There aren’t any nets out here.”

“Out here?”

“Outside Federal waters.”

I stepped back and stared at him. “You’re one of them.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair and smiled. “Perhaps.”

Behind him, I saw Kindred climb through the broken glass and hurry toward us. I glanced down the beach—nowhere to run. I stuck a foot back in the water.

He shook his head. “Not the best plan of escape. You’d be better off running for the trees.”

I waded farther into the water, up to my waist, and stepped on something sharp. A piece of aluminum floated to the surface.

“The whole island’s made out of trash,” said the boy.

“Trash?” I asked. I took another step and felt something plastic crush under my foot. A bottle floated to the surface.

He nodded. “You’re going to want to run.”

“Run?”

“In three,” he counted, “two, one—”

A massive fin broke the surface out in open water—a megalodon. I ran to shore.

The boy smiled. “Fast learner.”

He took my arm and pulled me farther up the shore, and I watched as the patch of sand where I’d just been standing was crushed between massive jaws. Compacted cans and bottles floated in the water as the island’s insides poured out. A seven-inch tooth glowed in the sun’s gleam, and I saw the monster was tangled in a patch of wire.

It had smelled my blood in the water, and now it was tearing the island apart to get to its prey. More fins rose from the water in the distance—more megalodons smelling blood and swarming.

I remembered the red ribbons that had danced in the water outside the subway car, and felt sick to my stomach. My knees collapsed and my face hit the sand.

There was no running.

There was no hiding.

The megalodons were here.

Charlie’s head throbbed and her chest ached. She remembered struggling in the water, holding on to Sandra’s little hand, and being thrown back by an explosion. She remembered the air being crushed from her lungs and her brain screaming for oxygen. She remembered sucking in a deep breath, and feeling water rush in, followed by a burning in her chest, and then nothing.

She flexed her arms and legs. Everything seemed to be in working order. She felt an IV that had been shoved into the crux of one arm. She propped herself on a pillow. She was lying in a bed.

She guessed she was in a hospital.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the walls were not white, but gray. Not a hospital at all. There weren’t fluorescent lights. No lights at all, save for the sliver that tumbled in from a window in the corner.

Charlie felt her chest. Someone had covered her in a cotton nightgown.

Where were her clothes? She pulled the covers from her legs and carefully touched a foot to the floor.

Concrete. More confirmation she wasn’t in a hospital.

“Hello!” she called. “Anyone there?”

No response.

The room was small and cold. Her hair hung around her shoulders, the messy bun and chopsticks long gone. She took a step away from the bed.

“
Movement in cell sixteen
.” A metallic voice echoed in the room. It was the same voice that had announced the drill on the subway.

Lights flickered on, and Charlie saw that a toilet and sink stood next to her bed, across from a steel door.

This was a prison.

A slot in the door slid open. “Charlotte Minos?” The voice belonged to someone young—her own age, maybe even younger.

“Yes?” she said. She walked toward the slot. Her knees were still weak. The slot slammed shut.

“
Identification complete
.”

The room’s lights dimmed. She waited by the door, but the slot stayed closed. She returned to her bed, closed her eyes, and imagined the sound of cars outside in the street. An engine rumbled and she snapped her eyes open. The rumbling ceased—it was just her imagination.

She heard a whimper and sat upright in her bed. “Hello?” she said.

No response, but the whimpering continued. She pressed her head against the wall. The sound came from a crack.

“Hello?” she asked again, this time louder.

Still no response.

She had to get their attention with something loud. She stared at the wheels on the base of her bed. If she’d learned anything from H.E.A.L., it was to never underestimate the screeching of rusty wheels. She couldn’t count the number of times a new kid had tried adjusting their bed in the middle of the night, only to wake up half the building.

She yanked the bed, and sure enough, its wheels screeched like nails on a chalkboard. Her ears were practically bleeding.

She pressed her head back against the wall. “Hello?” she asked again. “Anyone in there?”

The whimpering stopped. Nothing.

Then, finally: “Yes. I’m here.”

Charlie’s heart raced. “What’s your name?”

“Is that you, Charlie?”

Charlie recognized the woman’s voice. She’d known it for a long time. “Mrs. B! Yeah, it’s me, Charlie.”

She heard Kai’s mom sniff back tears. “I—I thought I would die here alone. Have they been hurting you? Is Kai in there with you?”

“No,” Charlie said. “He’s not right now, but everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll get out of here and find him, Mrs. B. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Charlie panicked. “Hang on, Mrs. B, I’ll be right back.” She pushed the bed back against the wall. The screech deafened her again.

“Knock, knock, little boy,” called a voice from the slot.

Little boy?

The door swung open, and the room’s fluorescent lights flashed to full brightness. Chancellor Hackner, the leader of the free world, stood before her. His hair was slicked back and his suit was tight against his chest. Three guards flanked him, their hair similarly slicked and their suits equally tight. Charlie guessed they’d used ten bottles of gel between them.

The chancellor’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his teeth big and white like pieces of gum. “Mind if we join you?”

Charlie pulled the covers to her chest. She’d seen his face before, on bubbling screens, but he looked different in person. His hair was shinier and his teeth a more unnatural shade of white. His blue eyes pierced her like knives. He sat himself on her bed’s edge, and she moved her feet so they wouldn’t touch him.

“I think,” he said, stretching an arm toward her knee, “that we both know why I’m here. So let’s cut the chitchat, little Lost Boy, shall we?”

She shook her head. “I—I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Chancellor. I don't know why you’ve got me here. I haven’t done anything wrong. The last thing I remember was an explosion on the subway and taking in a big gulp of water. Nothing else.”

The chancellor raised an eyebrow and glanced at his men. “And you expect us to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Hardly.”

She tried remembering what had happened before the explosion. She’d lifted Sandra out of the water. “Does this have to do with the girl?” she asked. “The little one on the subway?”

Hackner patted his greasy black hair. “I suppose she is smaller in terms of stature. But I certainly wouldn’t call her little…”

“With all due respect, Mr. Chancellor, she was scared to death, crying when we found her.”

He burst into laughter and turned to his guards. “You hear that, gentlemen? Mila Vachowski was balled up in the back of the subway crying after the bombs went off.”

They, too, burst into laughter, though their faces betrayed fear.

Mila Vachowski—one of the Lost Boys. Did they think she had
helped
her? Was that why she was here?

Charlie shook her head. “I—I don’t think we’re talking about the same girl.”

“No?” Hackner raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t know Mila Vachowski or Kai Bradbury? Any of the Lost Boys?”

What were they talking about? Kai was just a normal kid, like her. “Kai Bradbury isn’t one of the Lost Boys,” she said.

His smile twisted into its familiar grin. “So you do know him?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, I do. But he has nothing to do with the Lost Boys.”

Hackner smirked. “Just like you, huh, sweetheart?” He stretched a hand toward her leg. She swatted it away.